


Cocksure

by orphan_account



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7261882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healy assumes a little too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocksure

If he weren’t so talented at getting rejected by all the women this side of LA (minus the ones he paid for), most guys would’ve called March a fruit at first glance. Healy, however, didn’t buy it. March might wear clothes that were a little too garish—and he didn’t care what March said because that suit was _purple_ —but it was the 70s. The U.S. kicked Nixon out of office and just finished spending God-knows-how-much on a war without a purpose. Nothing had to make sense anymore. So March’s fashion choices had absolutely no bearing on his sexuality.

Only on a few cases had the men they were interviewing or their assailants thrown in comments about March and Healy sucking each other off, but in the later position, Healy could always follow the matter up with a right hook. Or better yet, smash the guy’s jaw with his brass knuckles. That would shut him up for a couple months.

No, Healy was sure his partner was straight as a rail, excluding March’s comments fueled by whatever booze hadn’t escaped his reach that day. But who hadn't said shit they regretted under the influence?

**

“Are your eyes really that blue, or is it this water playing tricks on me?”

“Yes, they’re really that blue.”

“Wow,” March crossed into Healy’s personal space the way drunks do, really inspecting his friend’s face before climbing up onto the diving board, “You know, I bet in your day—not that you’re old, but you know what I mean,” he hand-waved the implication away and tested his weight on the diving board, ”You woulda given Charlton Heston a run for his money.”

“Trust me. From week to week, my face was either smashed up from a fight or recovering from a fight,” Healy recalled how good he’d gotten at stitching together his own cuts after a while, “I was no pretty boy.”

The lights from the house danced in the pool’s blue water that honestly had nothing on the color of Healey’s eyes. Holly had wanted a pool party, so by golly she was having a pool party that summer. March wobbled close to the water, lifting up one leg and watching his rough reflection mimic him, “No, you were a pretty boy, just a roughed up pretty boy. Bet the girls loved that.”

“Well…” but as soon as Healy opened his mouth, his friend had lost his balance and belly-flopped tremendously into the water.

**

“You look so comfy,” March lie on a couple trash bags in the asphalt-lined alleyway behind the bar he’d just gotten thrown out of.

After having rounded the corner and spying his friend amongst the garbage, Healy rolled his eyes heavily, “You’re shitfaced.” He heaved March to his feet, balancing the man against his side as they headed to the car.

“You’re like a big teddy bear but a teddy bear that could kill me,” March leaned his head on his partner’s shoulder and squeezed his bicep to test the muscles underneath, “Shit, the teddy bear’s solid.”

With that, Healy dumped him into the backseat of his vehicle, very tempted to keep him locked in the trunk overnight if he didn’t cut out this non-functioning alcoholic shit soon.

**

“I know what’s wrong with you,” March grinned and sloshed some beer down his shirt after setting his glass down haphazardly, “When was the last time you fucked someone, like _really fucked_ them?”

When was the last time he’d gotten laid? Healy wasn’t willing to share so much because it was an invasion of his privacy but because the answer was embarrassing. March’s idea of a dry spell was probably two weeks, whereas Healy’s was a matter of years.

“I’m not answering that, March.”

“I knew it!” March threw his hands up in the air, victorious, “You’re so stiff ‘cause you’ve had to jerk your own self off for, what, months?” His mustache spread across his face, giving him the appearance of a Dr. Seuss character.

“It’s been a long time. Let’s just leave it at that.”

**

“Faster.”

The topic of Healy’s sex life had surfaced once more after visiting a strip club for intel. March had hounded him to stay for the dancers, even offered to pay for a private session, but Healy had left as sexually frustrated as ever. And March had noticed, going so far as to joke that _he’d_ blow him if that were what it took.

That’s how Healy found himself pressed against his one of his paper-thin walls, arching into March’s hand and begging the other man to make quick work of his erection.

**

So maybe March wasn’t so straight. His mistake. But sometimes you can be wrong and still get lucky.


End file.
